


Wait a Minute, Hold Up

by drainbamage954 (cats_cradle6766)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Phobias, people stuck in elevators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cats_cradle6766/pseuds/drainbamage954
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's this thing about elevators.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait a Minute, Hold Up

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for round 2 of [Kyungsooperior](http://kyungsooperior.livejournal.com/)
> 
> Thank you so much to both Reeza and Ansa for the encouragement and to dongseng for being a darling through this whole cinnamon bun situation~

Every day, work starts exactly at nine in the morning. Shifts don’t change, schedules don’t accommodate with deadlines racking up higher and higher in stacks of paperwork and forms that need to be filled out. A schedule is in place to be run over, but not delayed.

Work days can be extended past their typical closing hours, but every day they start at the same time.

No exceptions.

Emergency situations should be communicated as soon as possible, either through email or phone call or instant message. Emergency situations such as a family situation, a transportation delay due to an accident.

An extremely long line at the local café isn’t an emergency situation, but Han kind of pretends it is because he _needs_ coffee to get through this morning’s stack of paperwork he knows Song Qian has left him on his desk. It’s mornings like these that coffee is the difference between life and death.

Truthfully, Han wouldn’t be late to work, and wouldn’t feel the need to text Song Qian to tell her _’yo boss, gonna b l8’_ because Han typically keeps everything timed perfectly. He likes to take the stairs every morning, which he factors in as an extra fifteen minutes more (just in case) and which leaves him the emergency ‘get the fuck to work’ plan of using the elevator.

Today, coffee lines mean no stairs means elevator means no morning thigh workout.

Han can deal with that.

What is the cog in the system (aside from Han realizing he’d forgotten to charge his phone last night and it _dying_ when he’d been reading up on Reddit while he stood in line earlier), is the guy in the elevator. The guy who is watching him, eyes steady and face set into a look of ‘rejected’ when Han pushes hastily through the doors of the massive office complex. The guy who, despite how he can _clearly_ see Han struggling to hurry to the elevator, reaches out and presses the buttons for the elevator doors to close.

This _asshole_ who, despite how Han has as good as broken out in a frantic sprint because he’s _fucked_ if he’s late, is stabbing so insistently on the ‘door close’ button he might damage it. This _bag of prim dark expression moldy dicks_ who can _clearly_ see Han trying to flag him down with his cup of scalding coffee, who stares _straight at him_ as he barrels into the elevator, arm reached out just as the doors close and catching the door.

It’s almost with a sense of pure vindictive malice that Han turns to him, breathless and watching the man take a very obvious step to the side, his mouth pinching in a thin disgruntled line, and pants at him. If this were any other situation, Han might say something like _thanks for nothing, dick,_ but this time, throat burning and the sensation of ‘this is war’ crawling through his veins, Han says nothing.

Glancing at his watch, Han realizes he has a little bit more time catching the elevator exactly seven minutes before he has to get to work. Perhaps it’s the fact that Han already was left irritated and flustered this morning after waking up to not his alarm clock, but his nameless cat hacking up a hairball next to his pillow. Perhaps it’s the short fuse from the long line of coffee at his favorite café that morning.

Perhaps it’s because he’s never seen the guy before, and Han, even if he’s admittedly a bit of a jerk to his friends, believes in kindness to helpless clearly rushing to work to get there on time strangers. Perhaps it’s just because Han doesn’t want to bother telling off the primly dressed business guy next to him.

Whatever it is, Han calculates in his head the distance between the lobby floor and the fifteenth, where he works, and instead of punching just his floor onto the panel in the elevator, he reaches out with his palm.

There’s something extremely rewarding in watching the man beside him go even stiffer as Han rakes his palm down the rows of buttons, hitting every one he can. All nineteen of them. It’s even more satisfying when he punches in viciously the remaining buttons his palm had missed, watching the man’s eye tick with every jab.

_Vengeance_ , rings in sweet clarity through Han’s head as he stands back, just enough to watch the other man’s face, and raises his coffee to his mouth to take a sip.

Fucking asshole deserved it. Han lets out one last breath, heart rate returning to normal as he sips his coffee, and the elevator moves, carrying them smoothly up through the building. Standing back, Han can finally get a look at the other man, the soft simmer of vindication running through his chest.

The other man is shorter than him, his black hair pushed off his face but hardly styled, just short. His face is kind of nice, once you get past the dark prominent features, the larger eyes darker and piercing as he stares straight ahead at the reflective doors of the elevator. His mouth, with lips that look soft and pretty, is pressed into a thin unforgiving line, his fingers almost white as they grip onto a file case held in front of him.

He’s probably late for work now too, and Han vaguely realizes he didn’t even see what floor the other man is going to. Just-

The elevator dings softly, doors opening, and Han stands there, feeling a bit self conscious as some of the people on the floor look in curiously at him, hair ruffled up from sprinting, and the man beside him who looks like he’s about to blow a gasket. Okay, so maybe not the best decision.

The doors close, Han wetting dry lips as the elevator moves again, climbing leisurely up the building. The man doesn’t move, just looks more and more irritated as every floor, the elevator dings, stops, the doors open, and the just _stand there_ waiting for the steel box to get on with it.

It had seemed, in the brief moment that Han had stood with a pounding heart and the general feeling of _‘well, fuck you, too’_ burning through him, like a good idea. What better way to get back at this asshole too in a rush to hold the elevator for him than to make him suffer like this?

Of course, at the time, Han hadn’t considered he’d be suffering through this as well, watching as the elevator stops at _every single floor_ and he feels the irritation pour off the other man. The problem with the idea is that Han can’t just walk away and leave him to suffer.

He’s in this suffering, too.

So, when they reach the fifth floor and Han watches the man swallow down with apparent pent up fury, he can’t apologize, and he damn well isn’t going to reach out and press the ‘door close’ button. That would defeat the whole purpose of his revenge.

Instead, Han turns to him and says the only thing he can say, watching as the other man’s eyes snap to him in dark malice.

“You started it.”

That’s it. That’s all he has to say, and in just the shift of those eyebrows twitching together and the mouth tightening, Han knows.

This is war.

*

There is this thing about elevators.

They’re terrifying.

Enormous steel boxes hoisted up through closed steel shafts on metal wound wires and through computerized systems. They’re convenient, sure. They’re practical, sure. Everybody uses them, sure.

However, there’s always that chance, that _terrifying_ possibility, that something will happen. One of the cables will snap, the machines will malfunction, a spy trying to use the other car to get to his target will mix them up and drop down from the ceiling hatch and kill him. The power will go off and it’ll only be a few hours before everyone in the cab suffocates.

All of these things swim through Kyungsoo’s head, along with the terrifying other stories Jongdae tells him about when they’re supposed to be working. The stories about elevator fires, about earthquakes, about gas leaks, about computers becoming sentient and hoisting people to the tops of buildings in elevators and dropping them to their deaths seventeen floors below as the world experiences ‘machina apocalyptica’.

There are other stories, very _real_ stories that make Kyungsoo absolutely traumatized of escalators and conveyer belts. However, for right now, as he steps into the elevator for his second month of work, it’s just the elevator stories that stand out like blood in his mind.

Elevators are, right now, a necessary evil, and Kyungsoo will just stand with his face set and holding his breath, praying that nothing happens and he doesn’t die in the brief ride to the twelfth floor. It’s timed perfectly, every morning getting on the elevator, alone, shut down his brain until the door opens at floor twelve, get through the day not thinking about the copier coming to life and trying to eat him.

Somehow, all of this, every bit of it, is Jongdae’s fault. When Kyungsoo had joined this company, he’d been so excited. The chance to work in film production, his dream come true, was gold. He thought he knew all he needed to know, that he could handle this.

What Kyungsoo didn’t know is that while he can stomach the most intense horror on screen, he cannot stomach Jongdae.

Jongdae, one of his seniors at the office, pulled in because his brain churns out ideas like a machine and doesn’t seem bothered about how disturbing they are _at all_ , is a walking panic attack inducer.

Jongdae says the most terrifying shit Kyungsoo has ever heard in his life, spun it into words that dig into his brain and fester, creating a cancer of ideas that keep him up at night wondering _what if?_ Jongdae is a goddamn genius because all of his ideas aren’t about the fantasy chaos horror that is just enough to make people in the cinema jump and scream, Jongdae’s brand of trauma is all stuff that _could_ actually happen. In real life, to real people that Kyungsoo sees _every fucking day_. It’s all ridiculous, and scary, but there’s just enough in it that a small part of Kyungsoo knows that it could actually happen, that it could be reality, which, by extension, is even more terrifying.

Somehow, Jongdae talks about it like he’s just casually discussing this new muffin recipe he found, except instead of muffins it’s a story about how cannibals in modern society think. Jongdae can rationalize their senseless murder to the point that Kyungsoo wonders if everyone he meets might _actually be_ a cannibal.

The man currently sprinting at him through the lobby, looking desperate as he brandishes his coffee at him, might be a cannibal. He might be a cannibal and stuck in an elevator with Kyungsoo as they ride the shiny death box up God knows how many floors.

And Kyungsoo will be helpless, stuck in a terrifying steel cage with a man-flesh eating psychopath and Kyungsoo never wanted to die like this. Kyungsoo has a system, a routine, where he shuts down until he has to sit next to Jongdae all day and behave like a normal person.

_”You’ll get used to it,”_ Insung had told him when he’d taken him in as his entry level employee. He had smiled.

Of course, time will eventually sanitize Kyungsoo of all ability to experience life as a normal functioning human and instead see plot and stories and opportunity in everything. But for right now, Kyungsoo wants his quiet shut down sanctuary in the large metal death box.

There is no shame is frantically stabbing the ‘door close’ button like his life depends on it. For all intents and purposes, Kyungsoo’s life _does_ depend on it. The man sprinting at him looks crazed, and Kyungsoo’s nervous system (which was kept awake by the thought of paper shredders last night) can’t handle this.

Today though, the world is against Kyungsoo, as the man who may as well rival Usain Bolt for his speed, manages to wedge his coffee bearing arm into the doorway before Kyungsoo can fade into silence. The man also looks ready to throw his coffee on Kyungsoo, scowling at him as he steps inside.

Kyungsoo can’t bring himself to care, the internal mantra of _’shit shit shit shit shit cannibal shit’_ singing through his brain in the eerie sound of the children’s choir Chanyeol had dug up yesterday. It’s going to be the theme of the new horror piece Junmyeon had OK’d for them to work on for the upcoming Film Festival. Kyungsoo loves children, and now they’re trying to take that away from him too in the sound of eerie deathly, potentially possessed minors.

Then, the worst thing in the world happens, as the man turns in complete silence, and _drags_ his hand down the control panel. Every. Single. Floor. Every single one, now stands in a glowing faint yellow light as it’s selected and Kyungsoo feels his stomach roll in a sick turn as the elevator lurches to travel up the floors.

Usually, that lurch only happens once, when the elevator takes him up the floors, and then stops when he needs to get off.

Today, Kyungsoo can feel his nerves beginning to fray, the elevator stopping at every floor as more people – disputed about their intent towards humanity – stare in at him and his satanic elevator buddy. The elevator lurches, again and again, and Kyungsoo’s fingers have stopped aching, his body numb as he tries not to break down every time they go up another floor.

As the man beside him, who looks less manic marathon runner and more ‘the pretty one who turns out to be the serial killer who sells his victims in bits and pieces on the black market’, turns to him, Kyungsoo tries not to let himself show weakness.

The first display of weakness is what makes someone a target. Kyungsoo is already smaller than most, and doesn’t present an easy target naturally. An advantage he hadn’t realized until Jongdae pointed it out two weeks ago while discussing government imposed systems of Battle Royale. Now though, Kyungsoo is stuck in a steel box with a glowing panel of numbers and a man wielding coffee dangerously.

He swallows, trying to keep his irritation and terror at bay as the man opens his mouth and speaks in a soft somewhat melodic voice:

“You started it.”

It’s a threat. Kyungsoo isn’t sure where this comes from, and his rational brain knows that this may just be residual human nature to hold grudges, something unique to their species. All the same, the way the man says it, looks at him, and the way he positions himself is different.

Feeling his body wind even tighter as the elevator stops again, shuddering and making the adrenalin in his body surge once more, Kyungsoo knows this isn’t just a grudge.

This is a threat.

They stay silent until the door opens on Kyungsoo’s floor and he steps out, hands numb and jaw aching from locking all of his joints and reflexes.

Jongdae is waiting for him, sitting on his desk nonchalantly sipping a probiotic yogurt drink as Kyungsoo walk up to him stiffly.

“Did you get my text?” Jongdae asks him casually, watching as Kyungsoo finitely places his folders on his desk and breathes out evenly.

“Which text?”

“I sent it to you at three,” Jongdae explains idly. “You might have been asleep, but I got this new idea last night and wanted to run it by you.” Kyungsoo stares at him, still in a bit of a haze as his brain tries to calm down from this morning, knowing there is a human in this building who is harboring malicious intent towards him.

“Oh?”

“I can’t send my ideas to Chanyeol because he’s scared of half the things I come up with, and Junmyeon is scared of everything, so I hope you don’t mind,” Jongdae continues, idly licking at the lip of his probiotic drink. “You and Insung are the only people who even like this stuff. You get it, you know?”

Kyungsoo swallows at him. When Kyungsoo had met Jongdae, he thought he had got it. After weeks of knowing Jongdae, he’s pretty sure Jongdae’s brand of horror is an entirely different level, and may require professional help.

“So, anyway, I had this great idea,” Jongdae continues, still sitting on Kyungsoo’s desk as Kyungsoo sets up for the day. “It’s about a track runner.”

The tone of Jongdae’s voice makes Kyungsoo pause. “A track runner?” This sounds innocuous enough.

“Yeah, who used to run track, like, Olympic material kind of ability, until he suffered a car crash,” Jongdae continues, draining his breakfast drink. “And instead he gets these amputations, like cybernetic limbs that he ends up modifying and gets recruited for this underground society as one of their new agents.” Kyungsoo stills, listening to his ‘friend’ as he continues.

“So anyway, they put him in this super basic job, just like everyone else, but he treats everything like a competition and because of his trauma, he can’t cope with failures as easily.” Jongdae leans back on his hands, poking at Kyungsoo’s small assortment of cacti on his desk. “So he kind of goes a bit nuts when he runs, and the strength of the cybernetic prosthetics makes him even more dangerous, and they assign him to scope out this one guy who seems totally fine as a trial run.”

The ding of elevator behind them crawls into Kyungsoo’s ears and slips down his spine with the lick of a surgical knife, slowly opening up the raw nerve endings in his spinal cord.

“And then another guy ends up pissing off this runner, to the point that he gets obsessed with him, and even if his target is someone in his new placement, he ends up going after this other guy instead. Like, his whole programming code switches over and he targets the other guy instead. A mental switch of cybernetic homicide.” Jongdae grins at him. “Cool, right?”

The shake in his hands is something Kyungsoo decides to hide, shoving his hands into his pockets as he shrugs at Jongdae and looks down at his computer. The air on the floor suddenly feels too cold, slicing into his chest as he thinks of how fast those legs had run across the lobby floor, the pretty face sparking in irritation, that coffee so ready to be thrown into his face.

_They’re just ideas_ , Kyungsoo reminds himself as he nods at Jongdae and sends the other man back to his desk.

Of course, just as it always does, Jongdae’s voice slips into his head. _Ideas only stay ideas as long as they’re in your head. Ideas are the beginnings of reality, just waiting to blossom into life. That’s what makes ideas so dangerous._

The elevator dings again and Kyungsoo closes his eyes, counting back from ten.

*

Music Production is a never ending stream of work. It’s amazing, watching the precision that goes into creating music, enough that there is never a dull moment in the office, but it’s also a constant headache of perfectionistic people. On one hand, it’s amazing, watching and participating with everyone who creates this amazing music.

On the other hand, it’s an absolute nightmare when Han needs to have thirty copies of a musical score for an orchestra and he needed it twenty minutes ago so Baekhyun could get it to the musicians down in the studios. The bigger nightmare is when their copier runs out of toner and he sends an emergency message across all floors in the building asking for a free copier.

“Shit,” Han mutters, grabbing at the score Yixing had shoved frantically into his arms ten minutes ago. “Shit, shit, double shit.”

A message pops up on his screen from one of the other guys on the floor and Han nearly smacks the screen.

_You better take care of that toner problem you have there, Lu. The whole office can see you sweating._

Gritting his teeth, Han types back frantically on his laptop and sends the message to Namjoon.

_I wouldn’t have this problem if you’d been on top of this yesterday instead of on top of your manager._

On another day, Han might feel less inclined to snap at his coworkers for being dicks in the office. Today is today though, and Han needs a working copier before Song Qian comes after him again about deadlines with her very sharp manicured nails.

_Lu, that was mean._ flashes across the screen in another message box from Jimin, one of their newer interns who seems intent on being nice to everyone. Whether this is because he’s actually the nicest person alive or he’s just trying to get on everyone’s good side and drag himself up the corporate ladder, Han doesn’t really know or care.

Jimin brings him coffee – that’s all that matters.

_We have a printer open,_ flashes on the screen as Han is typing back a message to Jimin that is rather salty. It’s from the film company a few floors down, the director’s name _Insung_ flashing importantly. _We’ll make sure it’s open for you. Good luck with the orchestra. You guys can lend us a sound booth one day in repayment._

Han has met Insung all of five times, most of which are in the building’s café on the third floor. He’s a nice guy, tall, and good natured with a pleasant smile. He also doesn’t joke around much, especially when it comes to favors between the companies all crammed into this complex.

They’ll no doubt have to donate sound booth time to him, and while Han knows Yixing will bitch about it to him later when he takes him out for ‘apology’ drinks, he doesn’t care right now.

_THANK YOU_ is all he types back before sprinting to the stairwells and racing down to the twelfth floor.

If anyone finds his ruffled, panting, slightly sweaty appearance as he bursts onto the twelfth floor alarming, they don't say anything. Instead, Han manages to get himself to the copier as one of the interns points a distracted finger to it.

It’s brand new, _gorgeous_ and Han almost whimpers in envy as he feeds it the orchestral score. It’s a bit slower than their massive hulking industrial copier upstairs, but it positively _purrs_ under Han’s touch as it spits out copy after copy of _‘Attack on Atlantis PT. 9’_ to the paper tray.

The thing Han learned early about his job that it’s these moments, these tiny pockets of time as he waits for the machines to do their work, that are actually mini breaks. Most of the day, Han is out flat, doing work and running between various departments and making trips outside to pick up some random tool they need.

The times in front of printers, copiers, or playback stations are when he can catch his breath. Han can’t make the copier go any faster than it’s able to. All he can do is wait, watch the papers slowly pile up on the tray, and be patient.

It’s pure bliss.

Until the paper runs out in the machine.

“Shit,” Han sighs, stepping forward and yanking out the paper loading tray to find it empty as the machine beeps at him in a quiet pleasant chirp. There are a few stacks of paper in reams beside the copier, and Han lets out a soft sigh as he unwraps a few, loading them up. It’s easy work, simple and just basic, and easy to get lost in.

A soft sound behind Han has him pausing though, and glancing behind him. “I’m almost-“

He stops, freezing as he recognizes the man behind him.

It’s the guy. The elevator guy who was a complete dick, staring at him as he stands about four feet away and just _stares_ at him.

Han forgets what he’s doing, and just frowns, remembering the scowl and feeling of negativity rolling off the other man. “What?” he snaps instead of apologizing for occupying the copier.

The other man stares at him his face darkening as he doesn’t move, just stares at Han bent over the copier and loading the paper as his hands curl slowly into fists. “I need to use the copier.”

“Yeah, well, I’m using it right now,” Han says, nodding exaggeratedly towards the machine. “Learn to take a chill pill.”

Paper loaded, Han gets up, stepping back to watch the copier resume it’s pleasant humming work. It’s different now though, standing and _knowing_ the other guy is there, waiting for him, his discomfort seeping into Han so strongly that he turns to look directly at him, frowning.

“What?” he demands.

The man simply stares at him, as if waiting for him to do something. Wave his arms, shout, bring up the elevator, apologize, _something_ that Han can’t think of as his dark eyes bore into him and Han stares ruthlessly back.

Finally, the man’s eyes slide to the copier, fixed on the paper spit out as the orchestral score builds up for Han to rush down as soon as it’s done. He opens his mouth and speaks in a low voice that doesn’t quite fit his small stature. “Nothing.”

It’s edged, like he’s saying a thousand insults under that one tense word, trying to block Han out. Han isn’t usually a rude person, usually polite and gets along with people. But he plays fair, even grounds, and if this guy is gonna be a dick, then Han can play that game too.

As the copier finishes up, letting out a soft cheery beep, Han grabs his papers and turns to him. “All yours,” he says with a twist to his smile. It’s not polite, and he knows it. The other guy knows it too. “I’ve loaded it all up for you.”

Something about the way the man’s eyes flicker makes Han pause as he tucks the papers to his chest. It’s not a vicious flicker but more…

Nah.

“You’re late,” a frazzled Baekhyun says, snatching the scores from his hands when Han gets to him and distributing them to the musicians.

“Copier issues,” Han explains, breathless from running all the way down here. “Not my fault.”

“No, right, machines,” Baekhyun says, pushing his bangs off his face and they stick up a bit, the evidence that he hasn’t been home in a few days to shower. Han knows those days.

Everyone in the company knows those days. It’s a requirement for their work, along with the café downstairs giving them a discount for all the coffee they burn through on a weekly basis.

“Baek?” Han calls before he leaves. Baekhyun turns to him with bloodshot eyes and a shaking conductor’s wand. “Go home tonight, yeah?”

The loud laugh that Baekhyun lets out is both manic and miserable, and Han smiles at him sympathetically. Digging out his phone, he fires off a text to Heechul, their manager, telling him to let Baekhyun go the fuck home or drag him there himself.

True to form, Heechul sends back a slew of suggestive emoticons and the words ‘OK!’

Not for the first time, Han just doesn't want to know.

*

Drastic measures have been taken.

For a while, Kyungsoo knew he was being stupid, taking the stairs instead of the elevator. It was for his health, he told Chanyeol when he showed up a bit hot under the collar and with thighs aching.

Twelve flights of stairs is better than the mental fatigue of riding the damn elevator up the building. It’s worth not having to meet his cyborg stalker.

At first, Kyungsoo knew he was being stupid about the whole thing. Jongdae puts ideas into his head that don’t mean anything, can’t possibly be real, and Kyungsoo was just being silly.

Then, there was the scene with the copier. The pretty cyborg had the body of an athlete, lithe and powerful, and his eyes…

They looked so sharp, so intent in whatever they wanted, clear with purpose and impassive. If he had secrets, Kyungsoo wouldn’t know, and he just _stared_.

Maybe he’d been silly, listening to the other man brush off what anyone might have said. But to Kyungsoo, who had this copier once try to eat his hand when he addressed a paper jam, it wasn’t so neutral.

The next time he saw him, he was already in the elevator, Kyungsoo just walking into the building. Their eyes had locked, and the man, holding his coffee with a small smirk to his face, had reached out as Kyungsoo paused midway through the lobby. The doors closed before Kyungsoo could reach them, shutting out the man’s smirking face.

Kyungsoo didn’t even want to use the elevator. He didn’t even want to go near useful metal death boxes when he was late to work. Confining himself in a steel cage with a man who might be a cannibalistic Olympic secret agent cyborg was not on his priorities list.

The problem was, the stairs weren’t safe either. At first, Kyungsoo thought they were, until he nearly ran into the other man, talking jovially with another office worker from upstairs in the music department. Their eyes can caught as Kyungsoo stopped on the landing, and the smile had turned shocked, then sour.

All Kyungsoo wanted was tea from the café downstairs, just tea, and instead he found himself unable to finish that as he sat at one of the booths and felt the other man’s eyes flickering over to him from across the establishment.

“You okay?” Jongdae asks him when Kyungsoo gets back. “You look all pink in the face.”

“Fine,” Kyungsoo tells him flatly. “I’m fine.”

“Are you having an allergic reaction?” Chanyeol calls, leaning around their desks to look at Kyungsoo in concern. “I have Epipens if you need one. I keep them on hand because-“

“I’m fine,” Kyungsoo repeats, and tries to smile at Chanyeol shakily. He doesn’t smile at Chanyeol often enough, so perhaps he should have just stared at him like normal instead of make those worried lines deeper.

“Did something happen?” Jongdae asks, frowning a bit.

“No.”

Suddenly, Jongdae’s face splits in a grin. “Did _someone_ happen?” Kyungsoo blinks as Jongdae’s smile widens. “I was talking with Baekhyun earlier and he said he saw you and one of the guys on their floor trading heated looks.” The blood in his veins goes cold.

“Heated,” Kyungsoo repeats. Well, he supposes ‘potentially life threatening’ could be classified as ‘heated’.

“You sly dog,” Jongdae laugh at him. Unable to know what else to do at this point, his brain on autopilot from the amount of possibilities and stress that won’t leave, Kyungsoo does the only thing he can. He laughs with him.

“Okay, no, never mind, are you sick?” Jongdae asks, faltering as he watches Kyungsoo continue to robotically laugh with him. “Kyungsoo?”

“I’m fine,” Kyungsoo says, coughing a bit as he sits down at his desk, choking on a laugh. “I’m human, not a dog. Jokes.”

Kyungsoo doesn’t see the traded looks between Jongdae and Chanyeol. He’s too busy ignoring them and searching through the messengers for all the departments, trying to find a contact so he can dig.

Trying to set his mind at peace and reassure himself that he isn’t being stalked by a cyborg agent who has no records in the computer data systems. It’ll be okay.

Jongdae’s ideas are crazy, absurd, amazing movie plots. They’re not real. They can’t be real.

*

Perhaps Han was too quick to judge.

It’s been a few weeks, and things got a little better. Baekhyun actually went home to sleep, his cat stopped throwing up on his bed, and Han’s general workload stopped being a huge pain in the neck. The people on the floor got through the majority of their deadlines, and they can all breathe a little bit easier.

It’s been interesting, riding up in the elevator more and meeting more and more people on the floors, finding out who else works in the building. He’s gotten to know Jongdae and Junmyeon a bit better from the film department and has taken to actually joking with the café baristas.

Most of them are nice, and almost all of them dote on the guy from the elevator. Han doesn’t stalk him, that’s stupid, he just actually notices him now, watching him walk in during lunches and order ridiculously healthy food. And tea.

The baristas, especially the nice girls that laugh at Han’s attempts to flirt with them to get extra chips with his sandwiches, all adore him. Han doesn’t really get it.

Not at first.

After a few weeks though, watching as the other guy (he learns his name when he overhears Minah and Soojung chatting behind the counter) comes and gets his lunch to eat quietly by the windows, Han begins to think a little differently.

For one, he’s not talkative. At all. He smiles at people and is polite but he doesn’t engage in conversation, if anything he looks on quietly as his friends talk when they’re with him, listening. He rarely smiles, but when he does it’s rare, almost a gift.

Instead of blank and cold, he looks much more reserved, quiet, and contemplative. _Slow processing_ flashes through his mind as he hears Heechul making some sort of over-dramatic speech on brain function. Perhaps Han had misjudged him, after time just seeing a man who likes his peace and quiet and shies away from people even if they’re friendly with him, offering small smiles and a quiet nod.

Despite his initial impression, Han begins to notice him more and more now and instead of the word “asshole” flashing through his mind, he sees the word “armadillo”.

Why? Because armadillos are cute and curl up on themselves in a protective emotionless shell whenever they so much as smell a change on the breeze that might mean danger. After watching Kyungsoo for the last few weeks as Han decimates his chips, that’s basically what he’s noticed he does.

So it comes as a surprise when Han is late one morning, sprinting into the lobby and heading for the elevator doors, and he catches sight of Kyungsoo standing in the car, eyes fixed on him. The panicked _shit, I can’t be late_ part of his brain begins to scream as he watches Kyungsoo lower his eyes, reach out, and press a button on the control panel.

Then, everything is different.

The doors don’t close, instead staying open as Han barrels through them, clutching onto the spare speakers he’d needed for work today and out of breath. The doors don’t close and he notices Kyungsoo glance at him as he steps to the side, accommodating him in the elevator. He still looks just as stiff, just as wound up as the first time they’d ridden in the elevator together, but this time, Han doesn’t see it as offensive.

That’s probably why Han ends up smiling, leaning to the panel as he pushes the ‘fifteen’ button and turns to Kyungsoo. That’s probably why he says with a happy note in his voice, “thanks.”

Kyungsoo barely looks at him, but his eyes definitely slide in his direction as Kyungsoo shifts his weight. “You’re welcome,” he says, and as Han catches his breath and stands, stealing glances at Kyungsoo in the reflective doors of the elevator, he thinks he sees a ghost of a smile on Kyungsoo’s lips as well.

Maybe it isn’t war after all.

*

On the first day of Kyungsoo’s job as an intern under Insung, he’d met Jongdae and had immediately been given a small handful of chocolates with a brilliant smile.

“Thanks?” Kyungsoo had said, still feeling nervous as he looked at his unfamiliar friendly coworker.

“Oh, they’re not all for you,” Jongdae had laughed, and took him by the shoulders. “They’re half for you, and the other ones? That half goes to Chanyeol. Safety precaution.”

Kyungsoo knew Chanyeol, or knew enough about him. Chanyeol was a really nice person, very joking, laughed about everything, was basically a beacon of optimism and caring and probably breathed Nobel Peace Prizes but denied them because he was just too damn good of a person. Kyungsoo had blinked at Jongdae, not understanding at all.

Of course, like many times after this first, Jongdae had laughed at his face. “You know about those horror stories of office shoot ups?” This should have been the end of it all, where Kyungsoo should have given Jongdae back the chocolates and told him to go lock himself in the staff room fridge.

Alas, Kyungsoo didn’t know any better, and had instead said, “the ones where you’re nice to the weird guy so he doesn’t kill you?” He had frowned, wondering if Jongdae thought he was the weird potentially homicidal coworker on the floor.

“See, that’s where you have to be careful,” Jongdae had said, and slung an arm over his shoulder. “It’s not just the guys that look too quiet or don’t talk or are just _weird_. You expect it from them, it’s the ones that are fine, that you think you can trust, that are the _good people_ you have to be careful of.” He had grinned, leaning in as if sharing the biggest trade secret in the world before his eyes had slipped past Kyungsoo.

He was looking at Chanyeol as Chanyeol laughed at one of Junmyeon’s significantly boring jokes.

“Chanyeol?” Kyungsoo had frowned. “But he’s so nice.”

“But one day,” Jongdae had said, tapping his nose conspiratorially. “One day, what happens when this all becomes too much, when he’s tired of being nice to everyone, when his nerve snaps and that ‘happy virus’ becomes a disease? When no one will be the happy kind people he wants them to be and he comes in here realizing that humanity is doomed and does the only thing he can to save it?” Kyungsoo had stopped breathing without realizing it, watching Jongdae speak so casually as his stomach began to fill with deadly cool mercury. “Mindless slaughter,” Jongdae finished with a brilliant smile. “To save us from our doomed selves. All of us, save for those who showed him a shred of kindness and faith, that small shred of hope for humanity in simple acts of kindness. Chocolates on his desk and sharpened pencils every two weeks. A cup of coffee from the café when he looks tired, just to remind him you’re not one of the damned.”

That day, Kyungsoo had smiled as best he could and left all of his chocolates on Chanyeol’s desk.

He should have known then that Jongdae was just setting him up for a daily dose of self-inflicted terror, but even now he can’t help but hear those words once more as he watches the familiar pretty face sprint towards him.

_Don’t panic,_ Kyungsoo tells himself as he reaches out and goes against his survival instincts, pressing his finger to the ‘door open’ button.

He’s seen him over the last few weeks, watching him, lurking in the shadows and following him. Not outside of work, but always there, his bright keen eyes tracing Kyungsoo’s movements through the building. It’s set Kyungsoo’s nerves on edge, and today, as he watches the other man stumble into the elevator, he thinks of staying alive.

_”Simple acts of kindness,”_ echoes in his head as the man turns to him with a smile on his lips as he pants softly in his direction. The barest hints of a chance that Kyungsoo won’t be killed by him in some sort of blind cyborg induced rage when the other man snaps and slaughters him in the elevator ride to their floor.

Kyungsoo just wanted to work with films, he just wanted to help make movies. He didn’t ask for any of this.

“Thanks,” the man says, still smiling at him as he pushes his floor. Fifteen. The music production company in the building. Where Baekhyun works and all the other slightly strange people that never sleep.

No wonder.

Maybe his target is Yixing, who’s just as nice and almost scarily kind as Chanyeol, if not more. Maybe it’s Heechul, who Sojin swears actually works on the black market and has Soojung laughing every time she suggests it. Like it’s a joke.

“You’re welcome,” Kyungsoo says, feeling sweat beading along his hairline as the other man looks at him. He’s smiling, almost nicely as he looks down at Kyungsoo. His hair is a mess, pushed back from his pretty face as he looks at him, eyes even fixed on him in the reflective panels of the elevator doors.

The smooth climb of the elevator has Kyungsoo wanting to scream, to bolt out as soon as he can and make for the stairs, just _get out_ before that smile turns venomous. Why did he do this? Why did he hold the door for him? What happened to self preservation?

“I’m Han, by the way.”

Kyungsoo blinks, turning to the other man, Han, and willing himself to remember to breathe. There is a hand extended towards him. It would be impolite not to take that hand and move it up and down in a polite shaking gesture that everyone else does. It would be rude, and insulting, and Kyungsoo doesn’t want to be either of those to his potential stalker.

The hand is soft at the palm, a little rough on a few fingers with a few callouses, but has a very strong and confident grip as Han shakes Kyungsoo’s hand.

“Kyungsoo,” Kyungsoo says before realizing that he should have given another name. But then, if this man, Han, went to go look him up, or _already_ looked him up, he’d know he was lying. Good people don’t lie. And good people aren’t slaughtered in the name of humanity.

“Nice to meet you, Kyungsoo,” Han says, and smiles wider, his eyes dancing with an almost too-bright glint in them.

Silence falls between them as their hands release, and Kyungsoo tries to think of something, _anything_ to say as the elevator continues to rise. He’s still trying to think of something when the elevator stops at his floor and he startles.

“This is me,” he says to Han, and gets a nod in return. He smiles, feeling it shake, and steps back, watching as the doors close on Han’s eyes, fixed on him. Watching with that same bright glint in them that Kyungsoo has seen watch him across the café downstairs for weeks now, fixed and unyielding.

“You okay?” Jongdae asks when Kyungsoo gets to his desk.

“I need to buy chocolates,” Kyungsoo says, ignoring the shake in his voice and staring at his black computer screen without really seeing it. “I need to buy _a lot_ of chocolates.”

“Okay,” Jongdae says, and offers a smile. “Can I have some?”

“No, they’re for my survival,” Kyungsoo tells him shortly, and then gets to work. What kind of chocolates do serial killers even like anyway?

“Oh! If you’re getting chocolates, get the ones with orange cream!” Chanyeol calls, leaning into the cubicle with bright eyes. “Those are so delicious!”

Bingo.

*

“Holy shit, who likes _you_?”

It’s a bit strange walking in to find something on his desk that isn’t supposed to be there that he hadn’t left in a sleep-deprived haze last night. However, today is an exception as Han walks to his desk to find a box on his keyboard, a _nice_ box with a _ribbon_ and a tag.

It’s quite possibly the cutest and most random thing Han has ever seen. No one on the floor would even think of giving him something. They don’t give each other stuff, they gift to everyone, knowing that if one person has something, they all will steal it and make it theirs like the miserly caffeine crazed creative geniuses they are (or claim to be).

This will undoubtably happen to whatever it is Han just got, but for now, he sits down and stares at the box.

“Whatever it is, can I have some?” Baekhyun asks, already practically salivating over Han’s shoulder.

It’s chocolates, and Han lets out a soft gasp as Baekhyun emits a tiny whimper in his ear.

“Someone loves you very much,” Baekhyun whines, fingers already reaching for the chocolates before Han slaps his hands away.

Han hasn’t received chocolates since he was in college. These look expensive, gorgeously handmade and with orange cream centers according to the tag.

It’s also signed, or, well, printed, considering it was delivered.

From ‘Kyungsoo’.

At first, Han wants to call up the film floor and demand that this is some kind of joke. He barely knows the guy.

At the same time… if it isn’t a joke, then that means-

“Oh my god, is it that guy?” Baekhyun asks him, sounding gleeful.

“What guy?” Han asks, leaning back to frown at Baekhyun. How could Baekhyun possibly know about Kyungsoo?

“The guy who looks like a mini-murder mystery,” Baekhyun says loftily, like this is an immediate qualifier and Han should know exactly who he’s talking about. (Han does know who he’s talking about, but telling Baekhyun that will just be letting Baekhyun win, and a Baekhyun that has won anything is a horribly obnoxious Baekhyun who shouldn’t be allowed. Ever).

“Who?”

“The one you stare at in the café everyday,” Baekhyun says instead and Han chokes on nothing, seizing into coughing. “I knew it! I knew he kept looking at you too! Nice job! I knew you’d go for the weird cutes ones!”

Unfortunately, though Han had made plans to go down to the film floor and personally thank Kyungsoo for the chocolates (and ask him why the hell he deserves them), his plans get crushed. Quite almost literally crushed as Song Qian comes by with an enormous stack of paperwork and nearly drops it on Han’s precious chocolates.

“Deadlines, people!” she calls over the office.

The paperwork keeps Han in a slumped frenzy of work, losing track of time and he looks up hours later, realizing it’s almost dark out. Worked through lunch, his breaks, and almost closing at this point, and there’s little chance of seeing Kyungsoo now.

The messenger blinks on Han’s screen, but there’s very little chance Kyungsoo would be up for getting a ‘thanks bro’ on a messenger. Plus, Han wants to make this personal. Significant.

Meaningful.

“You coming?” Yixing asks, packing up for the night.

“Gonna try to finish up a few more of these, then I’ll head out,” Han sighs, looking at the paperwork on his desk. Tomorrow, he can grab something to say thanks to Kyungsoo with. Perhaps something from the café, or buy him lunch. Maybe they can eat the chocolates together.

It’s two hours past when work has finished when Han finally packs up to go home. The building is mostly deserted, and he keeps yawning, covering his mouth to stifle his fatigue as he heads out. Stopping on the third floor, he makes to stop by the café and grab a sandwich when he catches sight of who is inside and stops dead.

By the counter, Kyungsoo and Minah are chatting quietly, Minah looking concerned and Kyungsoo extremely patient, a kind smile on his face. Minah is pouring over a book, the café counter forgotten, and what looks clearly like undergraduate work spread out before her. The look on Kyungsoo’s face isn’t like they’re on a date, but instead like he’s slowly coaching her, pointing things out on the page that she then marks and looks at Kyungsoo for approval for.

It’s so soft, and sweet, and gently caring that Han steps to the side, out of sight of the doorway and lingers, just watching the scene before him.

It’s another side entirely of the man in the café, who presents as this hard shelled little rodent, curling up away from things. This is the soft belly, the sweet caring creature that sends chocolates with nice little notes and helps struggling undergraduates with their work.

Even from a distance, Han can see the warmth in the other man’s eyes, the walls down and his smile open and free, like he’s unafraid and comfortable.

As strange as it seems, Han finds that he likes that smile, wants to see more of it, and discovers quite on accident when he catches his reflection in the glass of the café, that he’s smiling too.

Maybe, if he sees Kyungsoo tomorrow to thank him, he can start working on getting one of those smiles directed at himself.

Just maybe.

*

Every day, work starts exactly at nine in the morning.

Every day and Kyungsoo is never late unless he’s sick. Kyungsoo doesn’t get sick, he’s too careful for that. Kyungsoo is about routines, about practices and structure, not about his alarm clock dying in the middle of the night and waking up late.

Every day is not today as Kyungsoo runs through the streets in a soft but foreboding drizzle. Today is Kyungsoo’s lungs and thighs burning as he runs to work, runs through the lobby, and actually shouts out as he sees the elevator doors open and ready to close.

They don’t, and Kyungsoo barely sees through the blur of his own breathing as he stumbles into the elevator. Panting, he looks up, a word of thanks on his tongue that falters as soon as he catches sight of the man standing by the control panel.

“Hi,” Han says, smiling at him with a sort of shocked but amused smile on his mouth. “Running late?” Han doesn’t even ask what floor Kyungsoo needs to go to, just pushes the ‘twelve’ button, the ‘fifteen’ already lit.

There aren’t enough words for Kyungsoo right now and even if there were, he can’t get them through his rough panting as he tries to catch his breath. Instead, Kyungsoo just nods in thanks, stepping back from Han to try to convey his thanks even as he wants to put distance between them.

It’s been two days, and he hasn’t seen Han at all. There’s been no confirmation if he received the chocolates Kyungsoo sent (though he knows they must have been delivered as Chanyeol’s definitely were). There’s nothing from Han, and Kyungsoo hadn’t seen him at lunch in the café either.

Seeing him now, smiling at him as he stares at him from by the control panel is strange, especially with how Han isn’t just standing in the elevator. He’s staring at him, flat out staring with those bright eyes that almost shine, like his head full of strange ideas and weird plastic smiles that look real but Kyungsoo never knows with murderers.

Throat still dry, Kyungsoo looks up to meet Han’s stare and says in a quiet voice, “thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Han says almost immediately, like he was waiting for Kyungsoo to thank him. A test? Maybe it’s a test. “I thought it’d be really stupid to play by Hamarabi’s code on this one.” Kyungsoo’s stomach clenches as Han laughs. “You know, an eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. An elevator denial for an elevator denial.”

The elevator takes that moment to make the first lurch, activating and traveling to the upper floors. It takes Kyungsoo’s stomach with it, and instinctively he reaches out and grabs onto the railing. Han’s eyes sharpen.

Then, the worst thing that could ever happen, happens. There is a loud rumble, audible even in the elevator, that Kyungsoo recognizes as thunder. The lights suddenly flicker, the elevator jerks, and just as suddenly as the damn thing lurches to a start, it shudders to a stop.

There is a moment of suspended horrified silence, Kyungsoo’s breath and heart stopped, and then the lights go out, casting the small square steel box into pitch blackness as they jerk to a halt. He doesn’t mean to, but Kyungsoo whimpers, his resolve to keep it together snapping as everything, _everything_ suddenly goes wrong.

Kyungsoo is stuck, in an elevator, suspended seven floors above ground, with a man who may or may not be a cybernetic covert agent serial killer out to kill him and feigning niceties to throw off his scent. Either way, Kyungsoo’s mental stability can’t take much more of this, and chooses the moment when the emergency lights flicker on, bathing the small space of the elevator in a thick red light, to completely go to shit.

And Han is right there, too close and Kyungsoo, for lack of a better word, screams bloody murder directly into his face.

“Holy shit!” Han is yelling, face suddenly contorting in the red light as Kyungsoo jerks away from him, ready to smash him in the head with his briefcase. “Kyungsoo-“

“I didn’t mean it,” Kyungsoo gasps, pulling away from Han and flattening himself against the wall. It doesn’t work though, the space in here too small, too cramped to get away, and he whimpers as Han’s eyes darken and he turns to him with a frown. “I’m sorry! I just wanted to get to work on time! I didn’t mean to close the door on you then and make you mad! I don’t- I just- I hate elevators so much!”

“What?” squeezes into Kyungsoo’s ears as the soft ring of the alarm begins to sound, the light flashing amid the red of the emergency lights. He can’t hear much though over the thundering sound of his own heart, the frantic breathing in his chest, and the dark look in Han’s eyes as he steps closer.

“I hate elevators, I hate them. I never- I just- I wanted to get to work on time. It wasn’t anything personal and I know you have your own work and I didn’t mean to screw it up by making you late, but I swear I’m a good person and won’t destroy humanity so please-“

“Kyungsoo?”

“I just wanted to make action movies!” Kyungsoo finishes in a whimper, and hugs his briefcase closer to his chest. A movement before him has him moving instinctively, letting out a yell as he lashes out to keep away and-

The startled pained yelp isn’t what he expected. There were no cyborg legs when Kyungsoo had kicked out, only the very definite feeling of flesh and bone and the sudden cry from Han. Kyungsoo blinks, heart still racing as he looks at Han, standing away from him and looking at him in confusion.

“Did you- what are you talking about?”

“You-“ Kyungsoo swallows, the thoughts that had somehow grilled themselves into his head laying out and looking suddenly very silly. “You’re not a cyborg amputee?”

Han blinks, face somehow slanting sideways, and then suddenly he laughs. Before, Kyungsoo had looked into his face and once called it pretty. No longer, for the face before him is just anything but, made worse by the red light bathing the small room. “Cyborg?”

“I-“

“Where did you get this stuff?” Han asks, looking at him in a mixture of amusement and vague sadness. “Did Baekhyun tell you stuff?”

“Baekhyun?”

“Guess not,” Han says, then his laughter fully fades and he instead looks almost sad, hurt. The light of flashing alarm flickers over his face, and Kyungsoo can feel his heart pounding in his chest as they remain stuck in an elevator, the huge steel box suspended in a huge shaft, waiting to plummet. “That really hurt, you know?”

Kyungsoo doesn’t even have the energy to apologize, just squeezing his eyes shut as he holds onto the metal bar at the side of the elevator and his briefcase tighter to his chest.

“Wow, you really are freaked by elevators,” Kyungsoo hears Han murmur, and it sounds almost awed, but also sympathetic. He doesn’t answer, just tries to breathe. “That’s really why you closed the door on me?”

“I’d rather die alone in a tragic elevator accident,” Kyungsoo says tonelessly, trying to block out the very realistic visuals playing through his mind right now.

“Wow, that’s emo,” Han almost laughs.

“It’s not funny!”

“I never said it was,” Han says, holding up his hands defensively when Kyungsoo opens his eyes to glare at him. “I’m afraid of heights! I get phobias.”

“But-“

“I work in a blocked off area on the fifteenth floor,” Han continues, and he slides down the wall of the elevator, looking up at Kyungsoo with a tiny but reassuring smile. “That way, I don’t look outside and see how high up we are. Plus, most everyone on the floor has blocked off the windows with some sort of project or something, so I don’t see out much anyway. But I get it.”

“And elevators don’t bother you?” Kyungsoo asks him, frowning.

Han shrugs, letting his legs splay out in front of him as he watches Kyungsoo slowly, carefully, let himself slide down as well. “I mean, if I really think about it-“ he stops, frowning, and then squeezes his eyes shut, a slight shiver going through him. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Kyungsoo says, still watching him warily, not trusting Han to not suddenly snap and try to attack him. “Fuck.”

“Do me a favor,” Han says, his voice a little tight. “And just - talk to me for a second here.” Kyungsoo’s mind goes blank, staring at him. Han swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing in the red light. “Did you get me those chocolates?”

Kyungsoo blinks, eyes widening slightly. “Yeah.”

“Those were really good,” Han says, and his breathing hitches a bit before evening out a little. “Why did you get them for me?”

“I just-“ Kyungsoo breathes out, trying to match a slower pace from the pounding adrenalin from before. “I wanted to apologize, for before. I just panic with elevators. I don’t like riding with strangers and I don’t like being in them and-“

“Yeah, okay, I get it.”

“So I wanted to say sorry,” Kyungsoo says. “And I thought in the case that you were a murderer out to get me you might change your mind if you had them.”

“Bribery,” Han says, cracking open an eye to throw Kyungsoo a slanted grin. “I like it.”

“So you’re not going to-“

“Jesus, Kyungsoo, I’m not a murderer,” Han almost laughs, the sound coming out in more of a wheeze. “I couldn’t even kill a chicken for dinner, let alone another human. The most I can kill is the plants people try to give me as housewarming presents, and I assure you, I try to keep those alive.”

It’s not really that funny, but Kyungsoo finds himself smiling anyway, a little startled but amused and somewhat calmed smile.

“I like that,” Han says, and Kyungsoo looks up to see him across the elevator floor, his own smile on his face as he looks at Kyungsoo. “Your smile. I really like it.”

“What?” Kyungsoo asks, confused.

“When you smile,” Han says. “Like, really smile, not smile at me nervously because you think I’m a weird axe murderer-“

“Cyborg marathon runner serial killer.”

“Whatev- wait seriously?” Han’s eyes widen as he sits up a bit straighter. “How did you-“ he shakes his head “-never mind, look, you’re just really- I like it when you actually smile. It’s really cute.”

“I’m not cute,” Kyungsoo says, frowning immediately at the word.

“That just makes you even cuter,” Han says, and his mouth draws up in amusement. “It’s not an insult when I call you cute. It’s a compliment. And even if you did send me those chocolates as a peace offering to not be offed, I still think it’s cute and want to thank you for them because they were really sweet.”

“They were chocolates,” Kyungsoo points out. “They’re supposed to be sweet.”

“I meant they were kind and generous,” Han sighs, but looks no less amused. It’s weird, the way he’s looking at Kyungsoo, like he has been staring at him for the past few weeks. Like he’s strangely fascinated by him, with a bit of another glint that-

Kyungsoo stills, staring at Han, and slowly his mind begins to sift through the last few weeks of him observing Han as a serial killer, and instead blocks out all the parts in raging ‘SERIAL KILLER’ to look at-

Oh.

“You’re welcome,” Kyungsoo says again, and finds himself offering a sort of shy smile.

It's a little strange how Kyungsoo spent weeks and weeks trying to figure out if Han was trying to stalk him for data and as a potential murder target when really, it was far from it. Looking back, Kyungsoo is pretty sure Han wasn’t aware, watching the confused scowl turn into something else over the days. Kyungsoo knows that if he’d been smart, he’d have noticed it much before, but he has Jongdae to thank for being a dick and shocking his brain into trauma mode.

While Kyungsoo had spent weeks watching Han’s observation as a potential murderer in his own convoluted Jongdae-view of the world as a war zone, he’d missed Han’s growing crush.

If it’s even there yet.

Though it’s hard to tell in the red light of the elevator, the crimson lighting making a blush impossible to see.

“So,” Han says, wetting his lips and shifting against the wall. “Now that we’re stuck in an elevator, I suppose we should get to know each other.”

Letting out a long sigh, Kyungsoo lets himself focus on talking, code switching from _‘the world is dangerous because the world looks so safe’_ mode to _‘but actually real life isn’t an action thriller’_. “What do you want to know?”

The slow smile that spreads over Han’s face is almost shy. Almost. Then he shrugs, feigning nonchalance, and says boldly, “tell me everything.”

“You first,” Kyungsoo says, a rush of apprehension curling in his stomach at the idea of divulging himself to this man.

But Han shrugs, grins almost like he knew Kyungsoo would say that, and says, “fine with me,” before he begins chattering away, slowly asking questions in the dim red light that get Kyungsoo to stop thinking of being in an elevator, and instead smiling as he relaxed in the sound of Han’s voice.

It’s the first time Kyungsoo is ever stuck in an elevator, but it’s not as bad as he’d thought it would be. Instead, when the power does come back on and the elevator jerks to life, shuddering up the floors until it stops on Kyungsoo’s he’s almost sad. It’s ridiculous, because Kyungsoo is terrified of elevators, but for the first time in all of his years having to use them, he hadn’t been terrified and stepping as fast as he could out of the opening doors. The floor is waiting, mostly staring as the storm outside lashes rain against the windows, the faint rolls of thunder echoing through the quiet.

This time, for the first time since he’d first seen Han’s sweaty and rushed face fly into the elevator beside him, Han gets off the elevator with him. In the time they’d been stuck in the elevator, Kyungsoo had managed to tell him about _why_ he’d thought Han was a murderer.

Han had seemed totally cool with it then.

He doesn’t look so cool as he hunts down Jongdae, the other man looking worried when he finally sees Kyungsoo, but even more worried and confused when he sees Han. He looks downright guilty and somewhat scared when Han snaps at him not to tell ‘poor armadillos’ stupid ideas that grow ‘like inception’ in the brain and make them paranoid of general life.

“I thought you liked my ideas?” Jongdae almost whimpers at Kyungsoo as Han steps back, looking superfluous.

“I do,” Kyungsoo mutters as even Chanyeol stands to look at the scene, obvious worry on his face. “It’s just-“

“Jongdae, even you scare _yourself_ with your ideas,” Chanyeol points out, frowning at him. “You’ve called me up so many times asking me to talk your down from your panic attacks at your overactive mind in the middle of the night.”

“But-“

“Internalizing,” Han almost hisses, and only leaves when Jongdae has promised not to tell Kyungsoo all his ideas and ‘overwhelm’ him. One a day. That’s it, and only if Kyungsoo has given his very clear consent.

“I could have done that myself,” Kyungsoo tells Han with a frown when the other man steps back. It had been strange, and Kyungsoo can usually take care of himself, getting annoyed when others do it for him. Sometimes though, especially with friends, he ends up thinking more about them than the fact that he hasn’t slept in four days because he keeps thinking of government engineered parasites that could technically control his brain.

“Yeah, but this was mostly for my behalf,” Han says. “I don't like when people are convinced I’m going to kill them.”

“Yeah, well-“

“Especially when-“

“Yeah, I know,” Kyungsoo says before his brain can fully process. He realizes Han is staring at him, then realizes what Han had said, what he had meant and what Kyungsoo had said in response. It’s not like he’s going to take it back, considering he _does_ know. Kind of.

“Do you want to get lunch today?” Han asks, and looks a bit hesitant, and this time, Kyungsoo can see the faint blush in his cheeks. It’s pretty on his face, which is already pretty. Double trouble. “My treat. For the chocolates. A treat for a treat.”

“You don’t have to,” Kyungsoo says, though he smiles, kind of endeared by this whole mess now he’s not panicking.

“You started it,” Han says with a glint to his eyes as he grins, and Kyungsoo, despite his best efforts, can’t help but smile back.

* fin *

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this is inspired due to a conversation between bluedreaming, onyu, and myself. Thank you both so much for you support <3
> 
> Yes the title of this is taken from Z.Tao's song [T.A.O.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvEo3foiBxo) because it was the most fitting. 
> 
> My interpretation of this prompt ~    
>  _I saw you trying to hit the “door close” button in the elevator but I made it in and then I pushed every single button to make you later for work, but now we’re stuck in this fucking elevator as it stops at every single floor and I don’t know what to say other than “you started it” AU_


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